Happy Little Trees

I saw this article on yahoo today from the Wallstreet Journal.
 
I actually saw this family about two weeks ago driving on Bellaire. Who knew? Now they're famous! Well, maybe for about 15 minutes.
 
I've thought about electric cars, but if I had one, how would I plug it in to my apartment's electricity? Or could I just sit at Starbucks every mornings and let it charge up while I sipped a macchiato?

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I had the privilege to visit Kenya in October of 2006. I very clearly remember the people I met because I have their faces not only imprinted in my mind, but in my heart.
 
One of the people I met was Nduku. She was a beautiful mother of three giggling pre-teen girls. Nduku's life (and the girls) had been severely affected by the life and suicide of her husband. He found out he was ill, so I'm assuming from hopelessness, ended his life. Nduku was left also with an incurable disease, and three girls to raise.
 
We were blessed with visiting her in the village she lived in. We sat in her tiny living room on hard chairs and a couch, and she squated on a tiny stool. She spoke in the tribe's language to express her thankfulness to God and to us for visiting her. She said, "I feel like God has remembered me."  Tears flowed from my eyes (and everyone in the group), because I think that every person on earth can relate in some way. It was such an amazing feeling getting to be one of God's messengers of hope and offer some relief to her financial burden for her family.
 
I wrote her name in my bible, and prayed for her. I thought of her quite often. Especially when I read Psalms. There's extreme anguish in some of the Psalms, and I imagined that there were prayers that Nduku could have prayed/did pray. Her life made the words come to life for me. I'd get reports on her from time to time, some that she was more ill, and some that she had good days.
 
I found out last week that Nduku passed away. My heart has been sad. I feel sad that she lived with disease, and I'm sad that her daughters don't have a dad or a mom. And I also feel very blessed to have been able to meet a woman in a village way far away that touched my heart so deeply.
 
I've made a commitment in my heart to do my best to help them financially. I might have a small dinner soon as a fundraiser. Or who knows. We'll see how God leads.
 
Please pray for her three girls. And visit the beautiful country of Kenya when you get the chance. :)

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Change doesn't happen unless you change something. Wise words, eh? Those words sound simple, but are very difficult to let seep into the crevices of the brain. As a human, I usual want immediate change without making any sacrifice.
 
I've decided that I am making myself not eat with my normal dinner date. My dinner date just might be your nightly dinner date, too. He's always there to keep me company with pleasant conversation, but he causes me to eat more than I would if I ate meals in my dining room, and not with him. He goes by the initials "T.V."
 
I've read countless articles about how it's easier to consume thoughtless amounts of food by eating in front of the T.V., but I still do it. On real dates, it can be an issue if the restaurant has a t.v., because I wind up focused on the T.V. and not the person in front of me.
 
This is going to be an experiment. I declare from this moment forward until August 5 (hey, I have to start somewhere!) to be "No T.V. Watching While Eating Week!"  Join me, if you dare.

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"Did you have a good weekend?"
"What did you do this weekend?"
 
Sometimes I have difficulty answering the above questions because the weekend can be composed of many parts. I also like to talk and share, so sometimes it's almost painful to give the response most people are looking for which is, "Good, and yours?" Instead, I sometimes wind up rattling off way too many random details and the questioner winds up with glassy eyes.
 
Unless I have a birthday party or other planned engagement, my dream weekends (as a 30-something) involve doing laundry, working out, eating sushi, eating samples at the supermarket while I shop for the next week, and hitting Target. Somewhere in time it finally hit me that Friday night doesn't have to be date night or girls' night. It can be acceptable (and sometimes physically necessary due to exhaustion from the week) to stay home.
 
This past weekend, I did the following:
- went to visit a friend that had a polyp removed from his nasal cavity
- watched Lord of the Rings for the first time (What's up with the non-ending?!!)
- crashed another churched singles' event to see if the grass is greener (fyi-it's the same color)
- did a load of laundry
- stayed with a family's dog
- went to church
- bought a pair of used cowboy boots at Urban Outfitters
- bought a new Target dress
- bought a new CD and found out it was missing underneath the plastic, DOH!
- got a haircut from my hairdresser the Italian Stallion

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I have a green shirt on today. And, as usual, when I wear green, I got the compliment, 'Oh! That color looks so nice on you! It looks great with your hair! You should wear it more often.'
 
Normally, after I receive the compliment and reply, 'thank you,' I try to figure out if I should put the advice into practice. When I wear green, sometimes I feel a little leprechaun-ish because of my red hair. Sometimes if I'm really quiet on the days I wear green, I swear I can hear the Irish Spring soap theme whistling in the wind. And I can't get the phrase, 'Clean as a whist-schle!' out of my head.
 
If I wore green everyday, it might be similar to the effect that Christmas everyday had in Whoville. Then I might have more added to my traditional description label: 'You know Beth? Red hair? Wears green everyday?'
 
I like green, but I like purple, navy, and black, too. I've made an executive personal wardrobe decision to keep my green wardrobe percentage down to about 10%.

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Last night as I trudged away on the treadmill at the Y, I noticed some attractive members of the male species (who appeared to be wedding ring free) trudging along with me. That made me then take notice of my attire. I usually wear a mismatched combo of tank plus shorts plus socks. 75% of the time, my socks aren't even the same color. I go pretty much make-up free to the gym, and wear my hair all back in a ponytail. And as I work out, I get really sweaty and my hair gets a halo of frizz. Because of all these strikes against my beauty quotient, I've never thought of the gym as a place to meet anyone.
 
I noticed other girls in the gym that had matching clothes that were even matching brands, and I was a bit jealous. I have a tough enough time trying to find appropriate outfits for work and going out, I don't think I can keep up with the pressure of looking cute in the gym, too. The gym has been an outlet just to exercise. But now, if cute guys are in my gym, then maybe I'm missing an arena of people-meeting all because I refuse to match my clothes and my socks that match got eaten by the dryer monster.

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It's hurricane season. That means I spend a lot of time on the hurricane website.
 
I saw a bit of a rainbow today as I drove into work. It was a good reminder about God's promise. Now if I can just remember which one of those promises that was... but in general when I see a rainbow in the sky, I just think of God, and I feel safe because I know that no matter what storm hits or passes, God is still God.

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I keep toying with the idea of getting a dog. I keep thinking, 'Well, I'm not responsible enough to care for a dog...I used to feed my dog at midnight (hence, her name Midnight).' But in reality, I had that dog from age 11-26. She lived 15 years. And was very well behaved.
 
I thought about getting a bag of flour, pretending I had a dog for awhile like a middle school project, but I feel I've proved myself in other ways. I've also spent 57% of my adult life while in Houston watching everyone else in the worlds' dogs. So apparently, I have doggie-care skills. I feel I'm the doggie version of Mary Poppins, and I finally want my own kid.
 
I don't want a puppy. I want a dog that's already house-broken, because I don't want the dog to break my house. I do want a lump of fluff that's not annoying.
 
For the next couple of weeks, I'm going to start getting my house doggie ready. And maybe by spring, I'll have my very own real, live dog. And not one that I can open to make a batch of cookies.

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I had a dream the other night that my family and I snuck into our old house, because we were hanging out in the little town, and needed a place to eat some sandwiches. So, we went into the house, found where the plates were now kept, and sat down to eat. I remember feeling nervous that the new family would walk in and see us still there. I really didn't want to go up the stairs because it would instantly rewrite all my memories with the new scenery. I wanted to keep my old memories.
 
In real life, I think maybe I have a small bit of separation anxiety from my old house. I'm a pretty sentimental person which my mother interprets as being a pack rat. While mom was moving last summer from our home of 31 years, she had me go through about seven or so Rubbermaid containers filled with my memories. Some things I easily threw away, and Judy-the-Bulldozer (as I thought of her as a child when cleaning out my closet), became a little nostalgic with some of my belongings. It was kind of odd that the things that meant the most to my mom didn't necessarily mean the most to me. Somehow, she finally got me to finish sorting (and stop remembering) and I made it through. It was like living my life again through an exhibit sponsored by Rubbermaid.
 
I kept thinking that maybe I shouldn't have gotten rid of everything, because if I became really famous, those items could be used in the museum about me. But I had to take that chance. Now I live in Texas with whole heaps of treasures I've collected here, but there are still many pieces of me (and a few Rubbermaids containers) left in Kentucky.
 
I brought back my Fisher Price circus train, and my cheerleading uniforms, but my grandmother's china was a bit harder to transport, so my mom still has it. Maybe one day, I'll drive the horrendous drive instead of flying the friendly skies, and get the rest of it.
 
I really miss our house. But I suppose it's just the old memories that I actually miss.  I miss the sounds of my family yelling up and down the stairs messages to one another. I miss searching for mittens in the top of the hall closet when the first snow sprinkled the ground. I miss playing the hymns on the piano and singing falseto. I miss sneaking my cat and/or dog into the house when my parents weren't home.
 
ohhhhh...life changes. We grow. Old and up. God bless us all, every one.

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Laundry is kind of fun. The end result smells nice. And then there are many more options in my closet.
 
I really hope I've convinced myself now.
 
 

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1. Flavor-Ice
2. Gelato
3. Sno-Cones (I wish I had the Snoopy Sno-Cone Machine)
4. Lemon-Berry Slush from Sonic
5. Country Time Lemonade
6. Red Kool-Aid
7. Limeaid
8. Chocolate Chip Frappachino
9. Ice Cream Sandwich
10. Ice Water with lemon
 

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Why does the Q-tips box explain every other way to use Q-tips except for using them to clean out the ear? In fact, the box specifically warns against cleaning out ears with Q-tips. How many people buy Q-tips for the purpose of using them to clean grout or dab on cream (like the box suggests)? I would put good money on betting that 99.5% of Q-tips find their way into ear canals. If the Q-tip company wanted Q-tips to be used for other things, then why do they make the Q-tip the perfect size to put into the ear?
 
I also bet that a very rich family (with a fortune earned in the 1970s) is out there somewhere that has members who are deaf as doorknobs, but are living large from suing Q-tip makers for not labeling the risks of Q-tip ear cleaning.

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Yesterday, I got off a bus after a 22 hour trip of journeying from Sharptop Cove Young Life Camp in Jasper, GA, to Shreveport, LA, to Tyler, TX, to Dallas, and then to sweet Houston. I still have bus-lag. I feel like I'm still on that bus trying to figure out a way to rest my head and contort my body so I'm able to drift off to Sleepytown. I probably was in a sleep/wake state for about 10 hours of the adventure.
 
My mind also keeps playing songs from camp: "Light the fire..." "Hey, I made it...I'm the world's greatest..." "I need you boo...hearts all over the world..."
 
And then as I sit back at work, I ache from the bumpety-bump of the mountain bike, and the grip of the ropes course harness and the climbing wall and the zip line, and the ladder climbing onto the dock after going down the water slide, and from climbing into a top bunk.
 
The most precious memory is thinking about the kids and getting a visual of seeing their lives change. I saw hearts soften. I heard a boy read from the bible for the first time ever in his life. A kid that was once balling his fist to find someone to fight was two days later using that fist to grip a mic to tell how his life belonged to God. It was the most beautiful thing to see. The tears I saw in a boys' eyes as he sang semi-off key, "I will dance like David danced" by himself in front of all his peers makes me cry to think about it. And then witnessing a blind girl sing the song, "Mary did you know.." still makes my heart ache. Beautiful, beautiful, memories. It's a precious gift to have a teenager cry over their sin on your shoulder, and to be blessed by getting to encourage them that God will have the victory in their life. Their life doesn't have to stay the same.
 
By watching these teens, I grew up this week. I saw immaturity in them, and how I still have some of that same immaturity in myself at times. And ways that I don't always trust God. And ways I must trust God, or I'm never going to grow past that point. It was great to not have one single thought about my absent Prince Charming, or if I should buy a hybrid or keep my SUV. It was nice not to hear myself whine (or my friends--sorry for saying that friends...but we really do whine from time to time). It was nice to refocus on God's plan.

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I'm addicted to a t.v. show. And it's all reruns. It makes me laugh. Per wikipedia, I found out there are 88 episodes of this show. So that means, I still have several more new episodes to watch.
 
It comes on starting about 11:00 p.m. So there I am, watching the show. Then, I get ready for bed sneaking peeks at the screen between flossing, face-washing, and teeth brushing, to catch glimpses of the 11:30 episode.
 
I never saw this show once before its syndication. It ran from 2002-2006. I wonder what I was doing all those years that the show was on. Watching reruns of a show you like is getting a second chance for something you missed out on in life...or really delayed Tivo.

If we were really green, we would:
 

• carry around our own hand towels.
• stop using toilet paper.
• stop buying pre-packaged single-serving items.
• stop making new cars, but figure out how to make old ones work better.
• reuse containers.
• use less electricity.
• turn back time and keep our old big monitors and t.v.'s out of the trash before the flat-screen invasion.

The point is, we're not green in America. We're not going to be green. We might be able to reach yellow in a few homes, but never green. I find it severely ironic that green has become such a marketable catch phrase. So now, in additional irony, more products are being produced to help make us "go green."
 
If we went green, our market would crash. Toilet paper makers would have to wrap up their businesses. Ziplock would be zipped. We've got to stay un-green to keep our market thriving. Unless we alter the good producers to manufacture other items. Boy, it's complicated!
 
I do have a friend, Ms. Green, that I believe is the most green person I know, and also practices what she preaches politically as well. She's a rebel of sorts. A Ghandi of green, if you will. Although, she has a tendency to be a bit more vocal than Ghandi.
 
Ms. Green has taught me so much about living green, when it used to be called "saving the environment." I switched many products because of her (which shall remain nameless for privacy's sake). And I developed environmental guilt when I don't recycle (especially plastic 1s and 2s ). It was frustrating for awhile, but now I appreciate the guilt, and do my best to always recycle.

I've noticed that the amount of recycleable materials that I have as trash, is quite a large amount. And I'm just a family of one. Maybe my difference doesn't count a lot, but I do believe that as lovers of God we need to be responsible with what God has given us. We don't need to worship the Earth, but we do need to be honorable with gifts from God. Maybe the more we try to erase the fingerprint of God with man-made beauty, the more God will make his majestic print visible (perhaps that's what Al Gore was really trying to get across). [That's just a random statement, so don't take it to heart too much. I was just thinking.]
 
So, maybe instead of using that plastic water bottle, just get a glass of water, or fill up a container from home. And use a square or two less of Mr. Whipple's stash.

It's hard to get my mind wrapped around the oppositeness of the human solution versus the spiritual solution. Sometimes trying to think in a God-perspective makes me feel very much like I'm thinking in Dr. Seuss terms--like being whimsical and creative, but not understanding the connectedness to our planet. It's rather opposite of reason at times.

It's a leap. It's a flutter of the heart. It's jumping and trusting your landing to his hands. Hands that go beyond human boundaries. And that can hold the whole world, but still can softly lift my chin up when I've been looking down for too long.